


things i remember

by an_amalgamation_of_birds



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Childhood Memories, Dadza, Ghostbur, Ghostbur Supremacy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, SBI Family Dynamic, Sally the Salmon is in this, Tags Are Hard, does this count as major character death?, when tommy is a kid he has a teddy bear named 'mr. business'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28508466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_amalgamation_of_birds/pseuds/an_amalgamation_of_birds
Summary: he doesn’t remember any more. he doesn’t think he wants to, either.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	things i remember

**Author's Note:**

> the first fic i've posted on ao3, wow :)

the wind’s in his hair. the smell of bread baking is travelling from inside the house. across from him is a boy with curly brown hair and glasses to match his own. his cheeks are rosy, and he’s not sure if they’ve always been like that or they’re flushed because he’s out of breath. it’s his brother, technoblade.  


wilbur feels himself smile, and get into yet another fighting stance. he’s been beaten again and again, but he’s having fun, and there’s still energy in his blood yet. so technoblade grins at him, and they’re back to roughhousing in the dirt.  


“wilbur! techno!”  


wilbur glances up from being stuck in a light chokehold, and a little blonde boy, no more than five, is running down the path from the house’s front door.  


“can i play? please? please!”  


his brother releases him to kneel by the boy, he thinks tommy is his name. his other brother?  


“i don’t fight children.”  


“hey!”  


he feels himself laugh. “go play with your stuffed animals.”  


“mr. business is not a stuffed animal, he is a model bear. fuck you.”  


“where did you learn that language, young man? an older blond says as he scoops the boy up. jill? no, phil. phil, his father. that’s his dad.  


tommy freezes, caught red-handed (and foul-mouthed). philza laughs. “dinner is ready, boys. go inside and wash your hands.”  


“yessir,” techno says from behind him, and he merely nods. times are good.

* * *

there’s a woman with fiery red hair sitting by a fireplace. he remembers loving her, he thinks.  


she’s holding a child. his child. fundy? that’s the only child he had, he thinks. it couldn’t be another baby, could it? no, no the baby is redheaded too, it’s fundy. is the woman sally then? he remembers fundy talking about sally. sally was his mother.

oh.

sally is looking down at fundy, smiling at him softly. he registers faintly that she is beautiful, firelight catching copper curls and soft lips. she glances up, smile now directed at him, and that’s all he can remember. he hopes it’s not because all the other memories are bad.

* * *

“ten.”  


what is he doing?  


“nine.”  


oh god, tommy is going to die. he has to do something.  


“eight.”  


stop counting, he can’t win, there’s no way he’ll win, you’re killing your brother, stop.  


“seven.”  


you have to believe in him.  


“six.”  


dream’s (dream?) got a sickening smile behind his mask, he just knows it.  


“five.”  


oh god.  


“four.”  


he can’t stand this.  


“three.”  


it’s for l’manburg (l’manburg? that sounds right).  


“two.”  


it’s not worth it, tommy. run.  


“one.”  


too late.  


“fire.”  


he screams. his brother has been shot.

* * *

he’s in a van. his brother is there, and his son. another brunet (his name starts with an e? edgar? no, that’s not it.) is there, as well as a boy he remembers as tommy’s friend. he knows tubbo, but he looks so young in this memory, it’s off-putting.  


d-does he smell drugs? why has he brought his son and little brother to a drug van? it’s his drug van? why does he have a drug van? why are his little brother and son his his drug van?  


oh right.  


viva la revolution.  


tommy makes a cheap joke, and fundy shoots one back, and eret (that’s his name, eret. he hates eret.) shushes them. someone is outside.  


he hears dream call for him. it’s time to fight for his freedom.

* * *

his brother is much different now than of his first memory of him. his hair is dyed and long, his glasses are long gone, and everything about his radiates something fierce, something he’d be very afraid of if given a reason.  


he’s glad techno’s on his side, that’s for sure.  


his friends are looting the chests, tubbo stuffing his pockets with emeralds as niki quietly approaches a set of cinereal gray armour glowing a strange amethyst in the dim light. it’s heavily enchanted, he can tell from afar.  


he doesn’t care about all this himself. it won’t matter anyways if everything goes to plan. (why won’t it matter? he doesn’t remember. but why isn’t he taking any of the things? he’s confused.)  


technoblade eyes him suspiciously. he merely puts on a winning smile, and pretends to look through a chest of weapons.

* * *

he’s watching tubbo build. he’s not bad at it, he realizes, as he relaxes in his chair. the woman beside him (not sally. definitely not sally. what happened to sally?) turns to him.  


“should we help him?”  


“i asked to help him a bit back, and he turned me down. he just wants to feel like he’s helped, you know?”  


niki nods, and takes a sip of water. (oh! niki! he remembers niki! niki was nice. what happened to niki?) so they recline together on the hill, talking as they watch a nation rise from the ground up.

* * *

he’s in a ravine (why is he in a ravine?). the air in his lungs feels lighter than he remembers, and he’s got a certain spring in his step. he feels kind of dizzy. he should lay down.  


no, no time to lay down. he’s got big, big plans (why can’t he remember the plans? were they bad plans?)!  


he comes down the stairs, his shoes clacking against the stone, and he feels like singing, so he does.  


he feels good. he feels very, very good.

* * *

tommy grabs his hand.  


“we’ve won! we’ve actually done it! forty-nine percent, holy shit!”  


everyone in the room’s grinning, except for quackity, though he can’t figure out why. even ~~schlatt~~ is grinning, why can’t he?  


( ~~schlatt.~~ god, that’s weird, why can’t he remember the name?)  


they’re jumping up and down. he’s president yet again. 

why can’t he remember further? this is a happy memory, he should be able to-

* * *

there has been a large explosion. he doesn’t remember why. his father is holding him to his chest, restraining him. he doesn’t remember why.  


he breaks out of his grasp. he’s an old man now, he can’t hold him unless wilbur lets him. he falls to the ground (god, why is he being so cruel? he’s his father. he hates this memory, he hates it.).  


“kill me, philza.” (don’t call him by his name, that’s disrespectful).  


“i’m not going to kill you.”  


“kill me,” he nearly screams at him, and throws a sword at his feet.  


his father is crying (fuck, i made him cry, i can’t do this, i don’t want to remember any more-)  


he watches as he picks up the sword, choking on tears.  


“you’ll always be my son.”  


(and as he falls into the crater he doesn’t remember making, the coat he had found in an old trunk that phil said he could keep stained with cruor and sanguine, all he feels is relief.)

* * *

__

__

he doesn’t remember any more. he doesn’t think he wants to, either.

 _fin. ___

**Author's Note:**

> my respect for ao3 authors was already very high, but after trying desperately to figure out how to format for thirty minutes, it has been raised immensely higher. how do you do this???


End file.
